Swing

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Swing Page 4

by Zachary Leeman


  Two could play at that game. Gloria went to pour herself another glass of wine and Tom motioned his empty glass her way. “If you please, Gloria.”

  The woman looked at him curiously. She seemed to immediately understand what he was doing. She glanced at her husband and back at Tom and smiled. “Sure, Tom.” She poured his glass completely full.

  Tom smiled and took a long sip of a wine far too good for his taste. He wasn't sure how Hillary was reacting, but he noticed Richard's smile had disappeared and he was now looking at Tom.

  “So, Tom,” Richard said.

  “Yes?”

  “Hillary has said you're a teacher. How is the business of molding today's young minds?”

  “Fantastic Richard.” He hoped the sarcasm was more than obvious in his voice.

  “Hillary mentioned on a few occasions that you're a writer.”

  Uh-oh. “Sort of.”

  “How do you mean?” The pompous tone in Richard's voice was becoming more and more clear. They were dueling now.

  “I used to be. I had a story published once.”

  “Oh, that's right. Hillary actually brought it into the office once. We passed it around and I think everybody read it. It was...interesting.”

  Tom knew now he was destined to lose this mental game of dick measuring. He didn't look to his wife or Gloria to see their reactions now.

  “What was it about again, Tom?”

  Tom coughed up the strength to look to his wife who sat seemingly dazzled with the conversation. Or, at least, Richard's part of it. She had no empathy for her husband. She would not rush to his aid. Before answering, Tom looked down in weakness and wondered what the hell he was doing here with this man. In this strange house, with this strange food, strange wine. Was he here for Hillary? Himself? Tom no longer knew. “It was about a group of young boys that accidentally kill a homeless man down by their hangout on the river.”

  “Oh, that's right,” Richard snidely chimed in. He already had everything he was going to say well prepared in his head, “I remember reading what The New York Times said about it. By the way, how did you manage to get some little short story in New England a write up in The New York Times?”

  “I went to college with the guy.” Tom was defeated and he knew it. He just wanted to leave. He looked to his wife. She was smiling.

  “'The Times is not usually in the business of doing this, but we will be reviewing a new brand of toilet paper. Oh, wait. Sorry. I meant short story…'” Richard began laughing, and even Gloria and Hillary cracked up a bit. Richard said, “Oh, sorry, brother. It was just so damn funny. That review. Actually, come to think of it. I think Hillary brought in the review. We never read the actual story.”

  Tom looked to his wife in hurt and shock.

  She obediently ate her food and looked to Richard.

  Richard smiled.

  Tom knew the man's type. The kind of guy that would kick you and laugh. Tell you to go to hell, but smile and remain polite about it so no one could complain that he was an asshole.

  “Where's the bathroom?” asked Tom.

  “Past the stairs where we came in and to the right,” answered Richard. He went back to smiling at Tom's wife. Tom got up and walked away as fast as he could.

  Even the bathroom was shiny and covered in marble. Tom puked, and when he was finished he wanted to puke some more. He wanted to leave so damn bad. He felt like a kid at a party he didn't want to be at. He felt like an outsider. I suppose I deserve it, he thought as he leaned against the wall and tried to regain his composure. Hillary was the one enjoying this. Had she really brought in that fucking review? Tom felt so small and defeated. He had lost the one person that had been in his corner simply by default. He was now all alone.

  Tom took a few minutes in the bathroom to splash some water on his face and ready himself for more mental abuse from Richard. When Tom walked back to the dining room only Gloria was there finishing off another glass of wine. She looked to him with slight interest and said, “They went upstairs.” Without thinking Tom turned around to head upstairs, but then stopped himself. Fuck, he thought. I'm too late. It was already happening and out of Tom's control.

  Gloria rose from her place at the table and walked towards Tom. “Come,” she said passing him and walking to an unclear part of the house. Tom obeyed. What other choice did he have? He followed Gloria down a long hallway, past the stairs into an incredibly large living room. There was a fireplace and two large couches with a foreign rug in between them. Gloria walked straight to a bar set up in the corner of the room. It had a wooden counter and liquor lining the wall behind it. Gloria went behind the counter and began pouring two glasses. Tom thought she was pouring scotch.

  Tom sat on one of the couches. His ass sank into the expensive furniture and he had to fight the comfort. His mind wandered to the thought of what was happening upstairs. He wondered if they were already touching and going at it. He imagined that man's slimy hands running over his wife's legs and her moaning at his every touch.

  Gloria sat on the couch across from Tom and handed him the scotch. He noticed the drink was full to the brim. Tom wanted her to say something to get his mind off of what was happening upstairs. But she simply stared for what seemed like far too long. Gloria raised her glass of scotch to her thick lips and downed it in a few gulps. She headed back to the bar to make another.

  “My husband must really like her,” she said while walking away from Tom.

  Tom stared at her ass and her carefully moving legs. “Must.”

  “You don't seem that worried,” Gloria was now behind the bar making herself another drink. Tom began walking towards the bar. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing.” She downed another small glass of scotch.

  Tom began sipping at his. It was bitter and rough.

  “Most times you have to go through an initiation with other couples. But my husband wanted Hillary all to himself. He must really like her.”

  Tom sipped more scotch. This wasn't exactly the conversation he wanted to be having. “You guys do this a lot?” He didn't know what else to ask.

  “Do what?”

  “Swing.” Tom instinctively gave her the once over. He wanted to reach out and grab her breasts, feel her tongue in his mouth, forget about this whole night and get lost in her.

  She caught his looks and said sharply, “Don't even think about it.” Gloria walked back towards the couch with the bottle of scotch and sat down.

  Tom followed. He sat on the couch across from her and looked on in curiosity. He couldn't figure this woman out.

  “You seem like a smart man Tom. Weak, but smart.”

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Why do you care?” The alcohol hitting Tom's insides was making him bolder.

  “Just curious.”

  “I'm not exactly sure. Still trying to figure that out.”

  In the distance of the house, rumblings of noise could be heard. At first it wasn't quite clear what it was. Tom thought he knew, but he chose to ignore it for as long as he could.

  “You don't like my husband, do you?” The woman's voice was inebriated and slurring.

  Noises persisted in the distance of the house.

  “No.”

  “You'd like it if he were dead?” She laughed at this. “I certainly would.” She took another hard swig of scotch.

  Noises were getting louder and now distracting Tom. He could not, for the life of him, figure out what they were. He said, “Why would you want your husband dead?”

  She leaned back on the couch, losing her composure, slightly turning Tom on. She sounded more relaxed when she spoke now. “He's going to divorce me. He's been talking to his lawyers. I heard him on the phone. He's leaving for Costa Rica in two days to meet with business associates and he's going to fix his will when he gets back and divorce me.”

  “I'm sorry.” Tom was hardly listening. He was trying to figure out what those damn noises were.


  “It's fine. He's an asshole. I was happy when I first found out. So was my girlfriend.”

  Tom's eyes shot back to Gloria. The mixture of the alcohol and the new thoughts of Gloria with another woman were really turning Tom on. Perhaps he was just trying to force his thoughts away from his wife and Richard...and those damn noises. They were still too quiet to fully make out.

  “Tell me, Tom. Is this where you imagined your life going?”

  The question made Tom drink more. He said, “No.”

  “Me neither.”

  He was confused by this woman. On the surface it would appear they were making some sort of connection, but in reality there seemed to be none at all. She was staring at the ceiling in her own world, lost in her thoughts, and Tom was trying to figure out what those damn...

  Tom figured it out now. They were louder. They were the sounds of a billionaire going in and out of Tom’s wife. The sounds were much louder. They sounded like they were right above Gloria and Tom. Tom was in shock. He listened as his wife moaned for more and more. Richard grunted here and there, but mainly Tom listened to his wife moan, scream like she was somewhere between pain and bliss. She had never moaned or screamed like that with him. Tom looked down at his pants to see the outline of a boner. He drank more.

  Gloria still stared at the ceiling unaffected by the noises. She'd heard it all before. She drank here and there, but mainly she thought. Tom could not tell what he was feeling. Anger? Shame? Humiliation? All of the above and more? He didn't know what to do or what to say or whom to say it to. He could not help but focus on the noises coming from right above him. The screeching, the moaning, the wanting. He closed his eyes and imagined his wife taking Richard again and again, forgetting her pathetic life with Tom.

  Fuck, thought Tom. He drank what was left in his glass. He wished he would just pass out.

  “Are we going to...?”

  “No,” she replied without looking his way.

  What the fuck am I going to do then, thought Tom? He thought about just going to the car and leaving without Hillary, but the alcohol was already making him feel tipsy.

  “Do you know how much my husband is worth?”

  Moan.

  “No.”

  Grunt.

  “Maybe a hundred million.”

  Scream for more, more, more.

  Tom grows more uncomfortable and quick in his answers to Gloria. “Ok.”

  “I'm still in his will.”

  She is drunk. This much Tom can tell. He walks over to her and grabs the bottle of scotch, pours himself another glass. “Ok.”

  More moaning. Tom's wife. Richard is really giving it to her now.

  “You're a writer?”

  Screaming, screaming, screaming.

  “No.”

  More grunting. Tom makes out the slight sound of dirty talking. The whole house seems to be shaking. The entire fucking mansion.

  “I've got a story for you Mr. Hemingway,” Gloria says. She still stares at the ceiling, drunk.

  Tom wonders when she started drinking.

  “Writer visits house of millionaire,” Gloria says. “Millionaire fucks writer's whore wife. Lesbian wife of millionaire tells writer to kill husband. Lesbian wife collects dead husband's money and gives some to writer. They live happily ever after.”

  More moaning. The both of them this time. Tom is only half listening to Gloria. He is trying to make himself pass out with the help of his good friend named scotch.

  “What do you think?” she asks, sitting up and looking at him now.

  “About what?” Tom is really feeling the alcohol pulse through his body now. More, more, more. Tom either thinks this or hears it. He can't tell which.

  “How would you like to kill my husband for a million dollars?”

  Tom goes quiet. He stops drinking. The rest of the house is quiet. He hears no moaning, no screaming, screeching or wanting. “What?” He doesn't know what else to say. He wonders if he is dreaming.

  “My husband keeps a pistol in a safe. I know the combination. You could sneak in. We could make it look like an accident. Or a murder by a friend. Or a suicide. I'd still get the money if it was a suicide.” Her words are loose and come out like she is just putting the thoughts together.

  Tom is stupefied. What should he say? Is this real? He stares at the woman with the thick lips, the lesbian wife of the millionaire. He should just say no and keep drinking, but he is sober enough to know that those are the ramblings of a miserably rich woman about to lose it all. Tom smiles. He wonders what a man would say. A man would say yes. He smiles some more. A million dollars.

  He takes another sip of scotch. Slowly the sounds of the world come crashing back into Tom's ears. The moaning, the groaning. Would they ever stop? Tom hears his wife take another man again and again and again. Moaning, screaming turning into screeching. Want, Need, Orgasm. Again. Again. Again.

  “Ok,” says Tom, “I'll kill your husband.”

  He lifts the bottle of scotch to his lips and begins drinking. It is bitter and revolting to his taste buds, but he takes as much as he can and forces it down, down, down. This is the last thing he remembers from that night.

  VII.

  Tom awoke laying on the couch from the night before. The lights in the house were off but the bright sunshine outside intruded into the room through the naked windows. Tom had a headache. The last thing he remembered was drinking scotch and listening to his wife get pounded. He wondered briefly whether he slept with Gloria.

  Tom noticed he was covered in a blanket. He pushed it off. The bottle of scotch was nowhere to be seen. Tom's head pounded and he was covered in sweat. How much did he drink?

  “You're awake.” The voice was cold and familiar. Gloria walked into the living room with the day's newspaper and a cup of orange juice. She was wearing a silk robe. Tom imagined she was wearing nothing underneath. For someone who had drank as much as she had, she certainly wasn't showing any signs of a hangover. Gloria sat on the couch across from Tom as he rubbed his brow. They were in the same positions as the night before. Tom remembered the pounding from upstairs, the noises. They were almost as bad as the pounding in his own head now.

  Gloria sat sipping orange juice and reading the newspaper not paying any mind to Tom.

  “Where's Hillary?” God damn, his head hurt. It hurt even more when he talked.

  “Hillary and Richard left,” Gloria said without looking up from the paper.

  Tom wondered if she was even reading the damn thing. “Where?”

  “Don't know. They left about an hour ago on his precious boat. She left a note for you.” Gloria motioned towards a wooden stand with a lamp on it.

  Tom walked over finding it difficult to stand and hearing his bones creak as he walked. He picked the piece of paper up that was lying on the stand.

  Dear Tom,

  Richard invited me on his boat for

  a cruise. Didn't want to wake you.

  Meet you at the house tonight.

  That was it. No “I love you” or anything. Tom supposed they were beyond that. He also supposed she was breaking some rules when it came to this swinging thing but he guessed it didn't really matter at this point. Tom crumpled the paper up and stuffed it in his pocket when he couldn’t find a trash can. He walked back to the couch and sat down. His head still hurt, and hurt more now that he was angry again.

  Gloria put the paper down like she hadn't read a word and looked towards Tom.

  Tom looked back and noticed she still looked stunning even after a late night of too much alcohol consumption. He tried to remember what they had talked about.

  “He's going to be back late,” she said bluntly.

  Tom didn't care. “Ok.”

  “He'll be back alone. He never drives them home.”

  Tom wasn't sure what this woman was getting at. He just wanted to leave and get a shower. A cold one.

  “About eleven,” she said. “He'll be tired and want to relax on his boat f
or awhile. He'll send her home and stay on there. He's got no firearms onboard. I could let you into the safe and you could--”

  “What the fuck are you talking about!?” Tom was thoroughly confused and this vague talk about God only knows what was only making his head hurt even more.

  Gloria looked confused. “Tom?”

  Tom was still rubbing his head. He wondered if he didn't drink scotch last night but bourbon. Fucking bourbon. “What?” He didn't even look at her.

  “Do you remember last night?”

  Tom looked up at her. He tried to think back to last night. The only thoughts that came to mind were the noises his wife made while Richard plowed her over and over again. He tried to think of more details. Then he remembered talking with Gloria. Bits and pieces. Then he remembered her drunken proposition which he had answered out of simple amusement. Tom smirked a bit.

  “Oh yes,” he said. “Killing your husband. I almost forgot.”

  Tom got up and readied to leave.

  “You don't think I'm serious.” The beauty was standing now, her silk robe complimenting her smooth skin.

  “No, and neither am I,” said Tom, and he turned to leave.

  “Wait!”

  Tom turned to face Gloria who was in the process of dropping her robe. The thing seemed to drop in slow motion and then crumple into a beautiful mess on the floor. Gloria stood there naked and presumably offering herself to Tom. Her breasts were large and well defined. Her body was thick but toned. She was quite a sight. “Do you think I'm serious now?”

  Tom wasn't quite sure what was happening or what he should do.

  Gloria began walking, taking each step slowly, one luscious leg in front of the other. She slowly passed Tom, giving him a quick, suggestive glance. As she walked away, Tom watched her large ass. He was horny. And he thought maybe this would help him forget about last night. But what was happening? Was this woman crazy or serious? Would he be sealing himself into some pseudo crazy deal of murder? Tom's head hurt too much to give any of this serious thought. He worked by instinct and began following Gloria up the stairs watching her ass every step of the way.

 

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